Game Over
by Slivering
Summary: When Ryoma doesn't show up to the US Open finals, the regulars are shocked. However, the reason why is far worse than they could have ever imagined. TezuRyo.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **I know, I know, I shouldn't be publishing a new story, but whatever, okay? I just had to. So, anyway, I really have nothing much to say, except I would _really _appreciate any reviews if you enjoyed that story. (I'll be replying to all of them through PM's xD) Also, I changed Lleyton Hewitt's name to Lleyton Hues because I don't want the real Lleyton to sue me if he ever stumbles upon this fic which sheds him in a very bad light. I don't even though the guy. I bet he's really nice.

**Warnings: **This story will have **rape** in it, so turn away now if you don't want to read it. There will be no explicit scene – I'm going to cut it off before it actually happens, but it's implied rape, and the story centers over Ryoma struggling to deal with the aftermath. It will be Tezuryo, as well, because I love it.

* * *

"Mada mada dane," Echizen Ryoma pointed his racquet haughtily at the opponent across from him. "You lose, six games to zero."

For a moment, the young man on the other side – Lleyton Hues – looked furious. His eyes bulged from his red face, and his teeth grit together like he was grinding sandpaper between them. But after a second of scowling and fist-clenching, Lleyton regained composure and smoothed out his unkempt tennis jersey.

"That was a fabulous game," he said, keeping his dignity intact. "It was completely my loss."

Ryoma smirked. "Sure was."

Again, Lleyton's right brow twitched incomprehensibly, but he managed to keep the smile slick on his face. "Hand shake?" he offered out his palm.

Ryoma sauntered up to the currently first-ranked singles tennis player in all of America, trying to keep the grin off his face. He reached his hand out, and they shook on it. Lleyton squeezed his hand hard – a little _too _hard – and Ryoma winced. The tennis pro in front of him was obviously infuriated at his loss.

Ryoma didn't blame him. In exactly one week, the two of them would be facing off in the US Open finals for a _real _match, and since Lleyton hadn't been able to get even a game off Ryoma in the practice duel, his chances of succeeding were slim to none. Ryoma was glad he'd run into the elder while practicing at the courts because his newfound victory allowed the anxiety of the finals to finally roll off his shoulders.

"Good game," Ryoma offered his first humble words. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "But you're not quite there yet."

Lleyton grinned through a pair of cracked lips. "Don't get overconfident. I'll still crush you at the finals."

Ryoma shrugged. "I'd love to see you try."

Giving their last regards, Lleyton and Ryoma went their separate ways, both of their minds toiled with heavy thoughts about their game. Ryoma was ecstatic, albeit a little disappointed by the lack of challenge. Still, for once, the absence of a challenge didn't infuriate him. This was his chance to win the US Open _finals_!

Lleyton was not as pleased – in fact, every assumption of it being "a piece of cake" to beat the kid had flown out the window. However, Lleyton Hues was not one to back out quickly, especially when there was so much on the line…

He would win the finals no matter _what _it took.

Even if "what it took" was illegal.

**=][=**

"You lost?"

His manager looked flabbergasted, his jaw hanging open.

"Close your mouth," Lleyton waved his hand. "You'll let a fly in."

The manager, Todd Hanson, did not shut his mouth. His eyes were wide. "But – but Lleyton! Sir! This is awful…the match is in less than a week, and if Ryoma Echizen beat you so badly then you're chances of winning-"

"Are 100%," Lleyton calmly opened a pack of cigarettes, primly taking one out.

Todd stared, flushed from anxiety. "But _sir_- I don't understand –"

"Todd," Lleyton said, placing the cigarette between his raw lips. He exhaled, shoulders relaxing. "How have I won every game even when the players were far better than me?"

Todd bit his lip, meek. "You've bribed them with money."

"Exactly."

Again, Todd could not keep his mouth shut. "But sir! Ryoma Echizen is just a kid. He doesn't care about money. He won't accept your offer for _sure_!"

Ignoring him, Lleyton pulled out a manila folder from a drawer in his desk, flicking it open. Looking through the pages of opponents, he found the one with Echizen Ryoma on it. He was certainly a beauty. Soft-cheeked, bright-eyed, innocent yet completely deliciously intriguing. Lleyton slid a crooked finger over the page, tracing Ryoma's face.

"Lleyton, sir?"

Lleyton stood up, pushing in his chair. "I'm not going to ask him for money."

"But then, what-"

With the thwack of his expensive shoes, Lleyton crossed the room and reached for the doorknob. He smiled with deceit before saying, casually:

"He's merely a kid, Todd. I simply have to play a different move on the chessboard."

With that, Lleyton shut the door behind him and disappeared with a flourish, leaving his manager Todd scrambling to wonder what in the world he was planning.

* * *

Echizen Ryoma was running outside at 3:00 AM.

His blood swished in his ears as he turned a sharp corner, his heart beat accelerating. Donned in only his Seigaku jacket and a pair of shorts, he tried to dismiss the frigid night wind cutting into his pores. Above him, the sky was dark and starless, the only light dimly streaming from the lampposts. Tomorrow was the US Open finals.

Ryoma exhaled, pumping his legs harder.

He couldn't believe the finals were tomorrow.

After months of training at Seigaku, and constant support from his friends and family, he had somehow gotten to the stage where he was nearly invincible. He had finally gotten to the stage where he would become worldly known as the youngest player to ever win the US Open finals (or any international finals, in that case). He had finally broken past every barrier standing in his way, cleaning his slate of priorities to only one:

Winning the US Open finals.

_Tomorrow._

Ryoma squeezed his eyes together. He hadn't been able to sleep at all – restlessly tossing and turning in the bed in the hotel he was staying. He'd tried to drink warm milk, cuddle up with Karupin, read a book – but nothing had helped. With no option left, he'd headed out to go on a run, hoping to clear his mind so he could get the essential rest before the game.

_Tomorrow._

He was so incredibly nervous; more nervous then he'd ever been for a game.

_Tomorrow._

His friends would have laughed if they'd heard how hard his heart thumped when he thought about the finals. But this was bigger than anything he'd ever done before. If he won this, it opened up a whole world of possibilities.

_Tomorro-_

"You and I both, kid."

Ryoma's head snapped up at the voice. It took him a moment to make out the figure in the dark, but he quickly realized it was none another than Lleyton Hewitt. Feeling relieved, Ryoma looked up at the man with a smirk. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was going for a run," Lleyton blew out a puff of smoke from his cigarette, watching as it clouded up the air in front of them. "The big match is tomorrow, huh?"

In all honesty, Ryoma had lost the little respect he'd had for the man when he had single-handedly defeated him. For someone competing in the finals, he sure…_sucked _for a lack of a better word. But at the same time, Ryoma was glad he had run into him. He was sure Lleyton shared his nerves for the finals.

"I'm on a run too," Ryoma pulled the brim of his cap down.

Lleyton's eyes trailed over Ryoma, lingering on the fine peak of his collarbone. He smiled, averting his eyes back to Ryoma's face. "Couldn't sleep?"

Ryoma shrugged, shifting restlessly.

Lleyton took this as his cue to launch into his plan. He brought out the tennis bag hidden behind his back and casually flaunted it. Two racquets poked out from the half-zipped duffle, gleaming in the moonlight. "I was actually going to head over to the courts," he inhaled, bellowing out more smoke. "Although I doubt there'll be opponents at this time."

Ryoma stared. "Hm."

Offering a crooked smile, Lleyton softened his hard features. "Want to rally a bit? Or have a match? I'm sure it'll ease _both_ of our nerves."

"I'm not nervous."

"Alas, it will ease _my _nerves. Do you mind the favor?"

In actuality, Ryoma _was _anxious, and was absolutely dying to hit a few balls back and forth to ease the tension elevating up his shoulders and spine. But he didn't want to seem too eager, lest it break his cool façade. With a smug grin, Ryoma shrugged his shoulders slowly. "Why should I?"

Lleyton had to bite his lip before he smirked – this cocky kid wouldn't know what hit him.

"Please?" Lleyton asked.

Ryoma stared at him, bright gold eyes gleaming. After a moment, he turned around and began walking.

"Okay. But don't cry when you lose."

**=][=**

The courts were isolated. Ryoma shivered as a gust of wind flailed around the courts, forcing him to try to bury his chin into his jacket. At night, the courts looked desolate – almost eerie, with the net and fence trapping them in a world of darkness. He could barely see the white strips of the court lines as he padded inside.

"I didn't bring a racquet," Ryoma told Lleyton.

"I have one," Lleyton's voice was slick as he bent down to pull the racquets out of his bag. From the corner of his vision, he let one predatory eye land on Ryoma's turned back. The boy really was a looker, whether he knew it or not. A Small yet fit body, a nice little bum, a healthy mop of black hair that looked green when it reflected off the moonlight.

_Delicious, _Lleyton pressed his lips together, praising his ability to hit two birds with one stone.

"Hurry up!" Ryoma called back, already heading towards the other side of the net.

"_Certainly,_" Lleyton said, more to himself than anything. He left the racquets scattered haphazardly as he stood up and walked painstakingly slowly to Ryoma. He wanted nothing more than to rush up to the boy and devour him, but if he gave himself away too quickly, the kid would run. With an almost savage grin, Lleyton approached Ryoma's unbeknownst figure.

Ryoma tilted his head, and frowned. "You left the racquets over there."

Lleyton's sharp jaw glistened, half his face shadowed. "Oh, my, did I?"

Ryoma didn't like the sudden creepy vibe coming from his opponent. Instinctively, he found himself realizing just _how _isolated they really were. Around the courts were nothing but fields of grass, and the only sign of a neighborhood was a small blinking light in the distance, indicating a street lamppost.

He took a step back. "The racquets?" he asked.

"We don't need racquets to play this game," Lleyton said.

"What?" Ryoma's catlike eyes widened a fraction.

Lleyton let his demeanor settle into that of its true nature; a bloodthirsty smile crept onto his face, and the predatory gleam in his eyes grew. "What beautiful, fair skin," he said, reaching his hand out to touch Ryoma's cold cheek.

Ryoma backed away, but Lleyton grabbed his wrist, wrenching him forward.

"What are you-"

"Let me touch you," Lleyton breathed, his voice husky with arousal. He reached his large palm out, and tenderly stroked Ryoma's face. "Such lovely cheeks, like that of a baby…" his gaze trailed to the eyes that tried to hide their fear. "And such precious eyes, so wide and fearful. Would they not look beautiful if they were filled with tears?"

Ryoma's eyes narrowed. "Let me go," he demanded.

"And such a fierce voice," Lleyton ran his rough thumb across Ryoma's forehead, sinking his fingers into the soft head of hair. "I would love to hear that same voice crying out, pleading for mercy."

The first wave of fear washed over Ryoma. Blood running cold, Ryoma struggled to make a futile attempt to get away. But Lleyton was a lot stronger than him; his muscles bulged under his shirt, and his iron grip around Ryoma's wrist didn't relent. "Stop squirming around," Lleyton's musty breath exhaled dangerously close to Ryoma's neck. "I want to play a game."

Ryoma squirmed. "Then let's play one," he said, almost desperately. "The racquets-"

"Not _that _kind of game."

With those final words, Lleyton pushed Ryoma to the ground, causing him to hit his head painfully against the clay. His vision flickered, but it quickly came back. He tried to get up, but Lleyton pushed him back against the ground, tightening his grip around his hair. "It would be a waste to let you go," Lleyton said, leaning in, mouth close to Ryoma's lips. "I'm truly sorry."

Ryoma braced himself; his toes curled, his eyes squeezed shut.

A moment later, rough lips collided with his own. Ryoma had expected it to be bad, but not _this _bad. It felt like he was suffocating, drowning against the pressure of roughness and cigarettes. _Stop, _Ryoma tried to push him away again, but Lleyton merely kept him down, grip tightening around Ryoma's shoulder.

Ryoma felt like he couldn't breathe. It felt like he was being strangled.

_Please stop. _

The lips parted, and Ryoma gasped for air. Lleyton's face loomed over him, his blonde hair wild and his eyes glistening with obsession. "Did that feel good?" the man breathed out, voice husky. His lips were a crackled gray, dried out from long-term smoking.

Ryoma tried to jab his knee into Lleyton's gut, but Lleyton swiftly caught it. Ryoma recoiled. "Stop," he said, quietly. "Please. The match, it's tomorro-"

Lleyton looked baffled, momentarily breaking out of his lust. "Silly boy," he whispered, running his fingers down Ryoma's neck greedily. Ryoma shivered. "Don't you understand?" Lleyton reached out, unzipping Ryoma's Seigaku jacket. He watched with a flushed face as Ryoma's eyes widened, fear filling every corner of the golden beauties.

Gently, Lleyton pulled the jacket down Ryoma's shoulders, before discarding it to the side.

_Please, stop._

"Stop," Ryoma tried to make his voice as threatening as possible. He wanted to fight the man, but Lleyton was right up against him, squeezing Ryoma under his body until the boy could barely take a breath. He felt like the world was closing in on him; the air felt hot, and his throat was tight, rendering him voiceless.

Lleyton didn't stop. He merely laughed, closing in on Ryoma and kissing him harshly. Ryoma winced, the feeling of suffocation returning. _Just pretend you're far away, _he told himself, trying to ignore the saliva and tongue crippling his mouth. _You're far away, playing a tennis match, winning the Nationals…_

Without warning, Lleyton tore off Ryoma's shirt.

Ryoma froze as the air chilled his suddenly half-naked body. _No, _he told himself, _This isn't happening. It's not happening. _He wasn't even cold. Lleyton's heavy body warmed him, even though he wanted nothing more than to be away from the man. He could feel Lleyton's gaze – drawn to his chest like a bee to nectar – and found bile rising to the back of his throat.

_Get off me, _Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut. _Get off me._

"You're so beautiful," Lleyton said softly. "So lovely to devour."

_Get off me._

In what felt like five minutes, but was only two seconds, Lleyton's hands slid down the sides of Ryoma's waist and roamed to his hips. They squeezed the flesh of Ryoma's sides, before he hooked his thumbs to the insides of the waistband of Ryoma's shorts. Ignoring Ryoma's plea, he let the eager predator inside of him free, and yanked the shorts down.

And for Echizen Ryoma, that was when the real nightmare began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **Oh! I'm so happy by all the reviews hehe how exciting. While writing this story, I feel like I'm writing _Crumbling_ all over again. The tone and atmosphere of the two stories are similar, and it's really nice getting that feeling back. I love hurt/comfort, it's my fav genre, and I'm glad to be writing in it again – especially with my fav pairing. Anyway, thanks for all your feedback!

**PS. **Thank you to the guest comments! I didn't reply through PM 'cause you guys weren't logged in, but I still appreciate the reviews!

* * *

When Ryoma finally came to, he was shivering, his Seigaku jacket half-heartedly tossed over his shoulders and his shorts loosely back on his waist. The court was empty, with only his ripped shirt strewn to the side. _I must have passed out, _he squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back tears. Blood seeped down the inside of his legs, trailing slickly down his trembling muscles. His body ached in a way it never had before.

Aware of the exhaustion in every part of his body, Ryoma barely made it to his feet. When he did manage to get upright, he swayed, vision flickering several times before it became clear. Pain wore down on him, pressing onto his shoulders. Images flickered in his vision – roaming hands, a blinding pain, moans of twisted pleasure. Ryoma gagged, and threw up a bit on the ground.

Wrapping his jacket around him tighter – as if to protect himself from the darkness of the night – he stumbled out of the courts. His lips bled, swollen and red. His heart ached, and his skin twitched with the ever-reminent feeling of hands crawling up his bare body. In all his life, Ryoma had never thought something like this could happen to him.

It happened to _other _kids – not him. It happened to _weak _kids – not him.

_But…it had…_

He was so exhausted.

With shaking legs that barely held him up, Ryoma headed to the direction of the hotel, wanting nothing more than to bury himself under the covers and hide the shame that he feared would never leave him.

**=][=**

When he got to the hotel, he stripped down into his pajamas, not caring about staining them with blood. He was just too tired – his backside ached tremendously, and his stomach flip flopped with nausea. "Sleep…" he murmured to himself, padding over to the large bed. Pulling himself under the covers, Ryoma curled into a ball, enveloping himself in the lonely warmth.

Karupin crawled over him, and nudged his head with his paw. Ryoma let the gentle action comfort him.

"It…hurt…" he whispered into the darkness of the hotel room. Karupin nuzzled his cheek, as if sensing his master was in a fragile state.

The blankets were so thick and tight around him – trapping him to the security of the bed. Ryoma finally let his tense shoulders relax, let the exhaustion roll off his body and seep into the sheets. His eyes burned with tears that needed to be shed, but even after everything that had happened, he could not find the energy to cry.

With nothing left in him, he just closed his eyes, and let himself drift off into a dreamless sleep, not bothering to set his alarm for the match the following day.

It didn't matter anymore.

Really, nothing did.

* * *

Echizen Nanjiroh spent most of his life concealing his love for his son. He taunted the boy, let him wander wherever he wanted, and made it a personal mission to make fun of the kid whenever the opportunity came up. But in the deep crevices of his soul, Nanjiroh _cared_, and his own heart was beating thunderously as he turned on the TV.

It was night in Japan, but in America, it was early morning – the US Open finals were about to begin.

The TV blurred, before the channel cleared. Up front was Lleyton Hues, charming the crowd with a dashing grin and mischievous eyes. "I'm not really sure," the man was saying. "I'm really disappointed, though, because I thought I was going to be in for a really good challenge…I mean, it's nice winning but…"

Nanjiroh's hand froze around the remote. Had they already played the match? Had he got the timing wrong? Had his son lost?

"….I didn't expect to win by forfeit. I find it kind of ignorant that he just wouldn't show up."

What?

"…I kept thinking he was going to come at the last minute, but he just never did…winning by forfeit isn't as exciting as winning after playing a great game…"

Echizen Nanjiroh stared at the screen, mouth parted, fingers trembling around the remote control. He was a laid-back guy – sure – but for his only son to miss the opportunity of a lifetime? His own heart ached, while his body stayed still with shock.

"…I just want to say to all of America: Maybe Ryoma Echizen would have won against me. Maybe he wouldn't have. But I do know that someone who doesn't even bother to show up to the finals is undeserving to be the winner."

America cheered, and Nanjiroh turned the TV off, watching as it faded to black. He sat frozen on the couch, fingers clenched around the remote control, heart roaring in his ears until he could hear nothing but the blood rushing through him. Ryoma would never forfeit a game this important. He would never oversleep, or forget about it.

He _knew _his son.

The only reason for this to happen…

Nanjiroh stood up, and walked numbly to the telephone.

…was if something had gone terribly wrong.

**=][=**

"Whaaaat? Ochibi didn't show up!"

"This has to be a joke!"

"Echizen! If he overslept, I'm going to kill him…"

"How unusual."

"It wasn't in my data at all…"

"Would he really miss the US Open finals?"

"I can't believe it!"

The regulars were huddled at Kikumaru's house, lounging on the couch while others were sprawled on the floor. They had had a sleepover so they could all watch Ryoma's final match together, hoping their distant cheering would push him to victory. But they saw no match. All they saw was Lleyton Hues, talking modestly about his win and Ryoma's forfeit.

Ryoma hadn't showed up for the match, and the regulars could hardly believe it.

"Ochibi! Why?" Kikumaru was practically wailing, hugging the blanket tighter around him. The entire month, his only motivation to get through classes and grueling tennis practices was to know that Ryoma was working even harder, trying to reach the very top. And now he hadn't even shown up to the finals? Kikumaru felt like crying.

Oishi gave him a tender hug. "I know it's disappointing," he said briefly. "But…I'm sure he had a good reason…"

"Maybe he got kidnapped, nya!"

Everyone glared at him, not wanting to think about their baby boy getting kidnapped.

"Maybe he got distracted," Momo suggested. "You know…with…Ponta…or…something…" the second-year trailed off, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

All of the regulars stared at the TV screen, which was on mute. They could see Lleyton embracing the victory, and they bitterly felt that Ryoma deserved it so much more. But if he hadn't even shown up…maybe he didn't deserve it as much as they'd thought he did. Tezuka, in particular, was finding it hard to conceal his shock.

Being a stone and all, he _did _manage to look unperturbed at the news, but Fuji was smirking at him like he could see through all of Tezuka's silent façade.

Why had Echizen not shown up?

Why would he _do _this?

Why?

Why?

Why?

The word blurred in Tezuka's mind until he was sick of it. He could find no reasonable answer to satisfy himself. Worry gnawed in his stomach. He had had a match with Ryoma only two weeks prior to the finals, and after slimly beating him, Ryoma had told Tezuka: "I'll win the finals," he said. "So I don't disgrace you."

Tezuka had offered him a brief smile. "I believe you."

But now there was only the cold pit in his stomach, like something had gone terribly wrong. If Ryoma had a stupid reason for not showing up, like oversleeping, Tezuka didn't think he could ever forgive him. However, if it was a serious reason…well, that was almost worse.

"Worried?" Fuji shot Tezuka a carefree smile.

Tezuka adjusted his glasses. "It's a bit…worrisome, I suppose."

"What's your take on it?"

That was Fuji. Always asking everyone else about their opinions but never revealing a layer of his own.

"My take…" Tezuka said stiffly. "Is…nothing. I can't come up with anything. It doesn't make sense."

Inui popped up next to them, nearly giving Tezuka a heart attack (although he cleverly concealed his jitters with only an eye twitch). "My data shows that the chances of this happening were quite literally only 1%, and that was on the off chance that something tragic happened. But I don't think anything tragic could have happened to Echizen – based on my data, of course - so…" Inui faltered midway. "Yes, well, this is quite unusual."

"Inui doesn't even have any answers," Fuji's smile perked. "This is turning into quite the mystery."

Tezuka wanted – no, he _needed _an Advil. "_Fuji, _stop looking so happy," he commanded.

"Of course," Fuji said, his smile not dimming.

Kikumaru's living room was chaos. Kaidoh and Momo had resorted to having a pillow fight (probably as stress relief) and Kikumaru was now consistently wailing into Oishi's chest. Kawamura had somehow gotten his hands on a racquet and was speeding around the house yelling, "BUUURNING! ECHIZEN IS GUNNA GET BURNEED WITH A STOVE IF HE DOESN'T HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR MISSING THE FINALS!"

Inui was scribbling in his notebook, and Fuji was smiling sunnily at…well, air.

Tezuka sighed, the knot in his stomach refusing to budge. He raised his eyes and watched the mute screen, watching as Lleyton talked into the microphone, watching as he rose to a fame that he didn't deserve, watching as America roared in appreciation, apparently too quickly forgetting about the gold-eyed rookie that had captured their hearts just one week before.

They just wanted a winner. And drama.

Someone – probably Kikumaru – unmuted the volume.

Tezuka caught the news reporter's words just in time. "….now, the big question circling America is _why _did the 12-year old tennis star, Echizen Ryoma, decide to simply not show up for the biggest opportunity of his life? Why did he miss it? Why would he sacrifice everything he had achieved so far to blow it up into thin air? _Why_? Why would he…"

Tezuka frowned, and turned to go to the kitchen cabinets where he knew Kikumaru kept the Tylenol.

Why, indeed.

* * *

Ryoma woke up to sunlight hitting his face. Heaving himself up, he blocked the heavy light with his free hand, the other crumpling the blanket. For a moment, he forgot. He didn't remember what had happened – he didn't remember why his body ached so badly, or why the queasy feeling of anxiety wouldn't leave.

But then it all came rushing back, like a vacuum releasing all its pent-up dust. _"So lovely to devour._" Ryoma shivered, hugging the blanket around his body, covering himself up as much as possible even though he was wearing pajamas. He stared at Karupin's sleeping form, wondering idly if what had happened had actually happened.

_It's not supposed to happen to me. It happens to other people, but not me._

He felt like he was in a daze.

Like his soul had been ripped out and torn to nothing.

He felt…numb.

Ryoma pulled his legs over the bed, getting to his feet. The hotel was filled with afternoon light, the big window painting the walls golden. He checked his phone, and was not surprised to see nearly twenty missed calls and a gazillion text messages. He had missed the US open finals. He hadn't shown up.

Ryoma walked slowly to the bathroom. He didn't care.

In the bathroom, Ryoma stood in front of the mirror. A boy stared back at him, with wild black-green hair, large gold-brown eyes, and blue pajamas that drooped off his right shoulder. The boy had an injured lip, and no smile. The boy was…. "_Let me touch you." _…dirty. The boy had let himself get raped. He hadn't fought back hard enough.

Ryoma reached his quivering hand out, and touched the cool mirror.

This couldn't be him. He didn't want it to be him.

Ryoma stared at the mirror, stared at himself.

For once in his life, he didn't want to be Echizen Ryoma. He wanted to be anyone else – anyone normal, anyone carefree and happy, anyone who _never _had problems like these. He wanted to be Momo, or Kevin, or Kikumaru, or… or maybe Tezuka. Nothing like this would ever happen to the captain.

Tezuka was _strong. _He was invincible.

Ryoma was…

Ryoma closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself, rocking on the heels of his feet.

_Why didn't I fight harder?_

_I could have stopped him._

_Maybe…did I want it?_

_No! _

_Of course I didn't…. _

_I just…_

_What if…I hadn't gone on the run…_

_It wouldn't have happened!_

_I shouldn't have went…_

_Why did I go? How could I be so stupid?_

Ryoma knew the "What if's?" and "Why's?" could not possibly stop. His body felt weak, torn, played with as if he were an object. He felt like a broken toy that no longer worked. His skin felt prickly, like someone was constantly brushing their hand across it, and he could barely move without wincing in pain.

Jadedly, Ryoma stared at the mirror once more.

Dirty.

Wrong.

Unworthy.

Ryoma brought his knuckle to his mouth, pressing it between his teeth as tears filled his eyes, making a choking sound against his skin.

He would not cry.

He could not give Lleyton anymore than he had already given.

With unshed tears, Ryoma turned on the shower.

Maybe if he rubbed the soap hard enough, he would become clean again.

**=][=**

Ryoma came out of the shower two hours later with his skin rubbed raw with soap. His hair fell damply over his forehead, and a towel hugged his body. He had tried to wash off all the blood between his legs, and had scrubbed insanely hard to get rid of Lleyton's touch. But he still felt impure. He still felt disgusting.

His cell phone was ringing.

Ryoma took a quavering breath, steadying himself. _I can pretend it didn't happen, _he consoled his exhausted mind. _I can't avoid them forever, but I can keep lying forever. If I pretend it didn't happen, maybe I'll forget about it. And if I pretend long enough, maybe even I'll start believing it myself. _Ryoma padded across the room, wrapping the towel tighter around him.

The cell phone continued to ring.

Ryoma checked the screen. The Echizen residence.

_Act normal. It didn't happen. Nothing happened._

With trembling fingers, Ryoma grasped the phone.

He stared at it for a moment, watching it ring.

Then, with his heart in his throat, he pressed talk.

The answer was immediate.

"Seishounen? Seishounen? What the hell! Why haven't you been answering? Your mother and I – I mean, just your mother and your cousin have been worried sick! You better have a good explanation for not picking up the phone!..."

Ryoma listened. He listened to his father's obnoxious, familiar voice, and felt a little safer.

"Oi, brat, are you there?"

Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut.

"…gaki, why didn't you…you know…the finals…"

_Breathe, Ryoma._

"Oi, answer me! I can hear your breathing, you know!"

Ryoma clenched his fist, and finally opened his eyes. He took a deep breath.

"Oyaji?" his voice was smooth, free of cracks. Thank god.

Nanjiroh was silent. "What's wrong?"

Of course his dad could tell. Even with Ryoma sounding normal, his father always knew.

"Hey…kiddo…"

Ryoma bit his lip so hard he thought he would bleed.

"Oyaji…" he released his fist, let his fingers spread free. "…I'm sorry."

More silence. Then, "Okay."

A beat passed.

"Oyaji?"

"…yeah?"

"I'm coming home."


End file.
